Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ezio
My fingers were already on the car keys when I hung up.
"Miss Adrian said she was picking up her sister. About an hour." Elsa's voice still rang in my ear. "It's been almost two hours now. Her phone's not going through..."
I hung up before she finished.
Sophie had called Mark an hour ago about their honeymoon itinerary. Mark was a business associate—not close, but close enough for me to confirm Sophie's location.
At least for the past three hours, she'd been with Mark the whole time. She never went to Brooklyn.
This was a setup.
I dialed a number while starting the engine. The car shot out of the manor's underground garage, tires shrieking against the pavement.
"Track two locations. Sophie Adrian and Olivia's last phone signals."
"Two minutes."
I floored it, merging onto the main road. My hands gripped the wheel, but my mind was full of her face this morning—the light in her eyes when she said, "Come home early." The kids running through the hallway. Sunlight on the dining room tablecloth.
That was two hours ago.
The call came through. "Sophie's at her Manhattan apartment. Safe. Miss Adrian's last signal was in Brooklyn, south of Flatbush Avenue. Abandoned industrial district."
"Send coordinates. Get a team ready, three blocks out. Don't approach."
"Copy."
Forty minutes. I made it in eighteen.
The industrial zone was more desolate than I'd imagined. Rusted warehouses, shattered windows, weeds pushing through cracked concrete. The air reeked of rust and damp.
I slowed down, scanning every building.
Then I saw her car.
White sedan. Middle of an empty lot. Driver's door hanging open.
I stopped and walked over. Empty. Her phone on the passenger seat—screen cracked. I picked it up and pressed the power button. It flickered once and died.
I straightened up. My legs almost buckled. My fingertips were numb.
Get it together, Ezio. Not the time to lose your shit.
I took a deep breath and looked around. Wind tunneled between the warehouses, carrying the smell of rust. A dozen warehouses in this district, but only one had fresh tire tracks leading to the door.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number. Photo attached—Olivia tied to a chair, eyes closed, rope around her wrists.
"Come alone. Walk east. Third warehouse. No backup. You know the consequences."
I stared at the photo for three seconds. Her clothes intact. Some redness on her face. But those eyes glaring defiantly at the camera—she was alive.
Good news.
I breathed a little easier. Didn't reply. Pocketed the phone and headed east.
The third warehouse had a rusted metal door, half-open. I pushed through. Inside was dark—windows boarded up, only thin slits of light leaking through.
My eyes adjusted.
She sat in the chair, wrists bound, head against the backrest. She looked up at the sound. Saw me. The fear in her eyes transformed into something more complex.
"Ezio."
"Don't talk." I scanned the entire space.
Bianca emerged from the shadows. Dark coat, hair disheveled, but her expression radiant—triumphant, almost manically joyful.
"You came," she said softly. "You really came alone."
"Bianca."
"Do you know how long I've waited for this day? When you threw me out, did you ever think this moment would come?"
"No. Because you weren't worth thinking about."
Her smile froze briefly, then recovered.
"Tough talk," she said. "Doesn't matter. You standing here proves everything. For her, you'd sacrifice anything: your pride, your safety, your..." She paused, lips curling. "Your life."
I watched her. Said nothing.
"You know what? These five years, I kept wondering when you'd finally stumble. You're too strong, Ezio. Nobody can touch you. But you have one weakness. Always had just one."
She looked at Olivia.
"Her."
"So?" I asked. "You kidnapped her just to tell me that?"
"Of course not." She smiled, the expression garish in the dim light. "I want you to agree to my terms. The Colonna-Visconti marriage proceeds as planned. She leaves. Never comes back. Her son stays at the manor."
"Bianca, who's helping you?" I cut her off.
She stopped.
"What?"
"Planning a kidnapping, blocking signals, pulling my people away—you can't do that alone." My voice was quiet but clear. "What you can do is bribe a servant or two, gather some gossip, and plant a spy in the kitchen. But not this level of operation."
Her lips trembled.
I took another step forward.
"So I'm asking, who's helping you?"
"I didn't—"
A soft laugh echoed from deep in the warehouse.
"Enough, Bianca. He's seen right through you."
Footsteps. Slow, measured, emerging from shadow.
A man stepped into the light.
Dark coat. Hair neatly combed. Composed expression. A slight smile on his lips.
Sebastian.
"Fuck." It took me a moment to find my voice.
I'd suspected something, but when truth presented itself like this, it still felt absurd.
"Ezio," he said lightly, like greeting an old friend. "Still sharp as ever."
Olivia's breathing quickened. "Sebastian?"
He glanced at her. His eyes held tenderness, pain, something almost devout.
"Sorry," he said. "That you had to find out this way."
"You—" Her voice trembled. "You're behind this?"
"I am." He turned back to me. "Always have been."
"Ha! Bet you didn't see that coming. Sebastian's been my man all along.
The fake pregnancy, even that thrilling car chase—all Sebastian's doing.
" Bianca gloated, driving each cruel word into Olivia's heart.
I knew Olivia must be devastated. She'd trusted Sebastian so much, considered him her closest friend.
Damn him! How dare he use my Olivia like that!
The warehouse fell silent except for the wind. Olivia stared at Sebastian in disbelief, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking. Sebastian stood there, coat billowing in the breeze, hands empty. His posture was relaxed—like he was in his own living room.
He looked at Bianca, lips curling slightly. No warmth in that smile.
"Bianca," he said softly, "you know what your biggest problem is?"
Bianca looked up, tear tracks still wet on her face, eyes full of fear and rage.
"You were too impatient. Five years and you turned yourself into a joke. You thought if you were patient enough, endured enough, he'd eventually see you. But you forgot—what he saw wasn't you. It was the Colonna family behind you."
"You..."
"I'm different," he said, turning to me. "I spent ten years building an entire network in France. You think I really went there to open a winery? Those years—how many people I met, how many deals I made, how many paths I laid—you don't know."
My fingers tightened.
He met my eyes, smile deepening.
"Because you're Uncle's son. You sit in your New York manor, waiting for everyone to come worship you. While I was out there, in places where nobody knew me, building something of my own piece by piece. You think I gave up on the family? No. I just changed tactics, waiting for an opportunity."
"You think you won?" I sneered. "You think I don't know about your little schemes in Europe?"
His smile stiffened.
"The Lorraine family got new leadership last month. Not your people. That Marseille line got cut three months ago. Also not your doing. You thought that was your achievement? Sebastian, those paths you laid, I had people cut them."
His expression changed.
"Impossible!"
"You were too hasty," I said, throwing his words back at him.
"Ten years to build a network that could challenge New York?
You didn't even understand the internal conflicts between those European families before jumping in.
You think they really wanted to partner with you?
They just saw you as leverage against the Visconti family. "
His lips trembled.
"You—" His voice dropped. "You knew all along?"
"I knew you were making moves in Europe," I said. "But I didn't know when you'd strike. You hid well, Sebastian. Not impulsive like Bianca. You stayed in France for ten years. Waited ten years. For one opportunity."
"And her—" I glanced at Olivia. "She was the piece you prepared. You got close to her because she's my weakness. You waited by my side for five years. Waited for me to find her, bring her back—then you could use her against me."
Olivia's breathing quickened. I heard her shift in the chair, ropes scraping.
I forced myself not to look at her. Kept my eyes locked on Sebastian.
"Am I wrong?"
His face was paper-white.
Then he laughed.
Different from before. His eyes crinkled with it. Unhinged.
"Ezio, you're one step ahead again." He laughed louder. "But it's not over! I haven't lost yet!"
He spun around, grabbed Olivia's hair, and yanked her from the chair. She cried out sharply. Ropes still bound her wrists. She stumbled as he dragged her forward.
A knife pressed against her throat.
Thin blade. Glinted once in the dim light. Olivia's breathing quickened. She looked at me, eyes wide.
Fear.
I saw it in her eyes.
"Don't move." Sebastian's eyes were bloodshot, expression manic.
I stopped.
"One more step and I'll slit her throat."
"Sebastian, you don't want to know the consequences." My voice was calm, but only I knew my palms were slick with cold sweat.
"Don't use that tone with me," he cut me off. "Don't order me, don't lecture me, don't look at me like I'm some failure. Ezio, all our live,s you've been better than me. More favored by Uncle. I always lost to you. But today—"
His fingers tightened. The blade pressed closer to Olivia's skin. She bit her lip. Didn't make a sound.
"I'm going to win."
"Sebastian, I can give you anything you want. Just let her go."
"Let her go?" He laughed, the sound garish in the dim light. "Then what? You let me walk away? Like you did with Bianca? No, Ezio. I'm not Bianca. I won't crawl out of here."
His arm locked around Olivia's neck, knife at her throat. Bloodshot eyes held that look—the kind that comes when someone's backed into a corner and stops caring about anything.